The Hero's Return
by Phoenix Seeker
Summary: A few days after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, Harry and Professor McGonagall, while talking, finds a brave hero, thought to be dead.
1. Prologue: The Midnight Walk

****A/N: I intend to write a novel about Harry and Snape continuing from the Deathly Hallows. I'm currently out of ideas for the plot. Any ideas for the storyline is greatly appreciated. Also, the writing is very crude. Any edits or suggestions is also welcome. Thanks in advance!****

******A/N: Hi, I decided to change up the story a little so I could paint a clearer image of what Harry is going through. As always, any suggestions/changes are welcome and appreciated!******

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><p><strong>The Hero's Return<strong>

_Prologue: The Midnight Walk_

It was a crisp spring night in a small region many, many miles away from the little town of Surrey in England. The crescent moon, its soft light casting pure radiance for the first time since myriad vicious storms, cut through the dense thickets of the a certain forest, illuminating the nondescript leafy floor. The "Forbidden Forest" was the name of the small piece of wilderness.

A great, stone castle called Hogwarts resided beside the Forbidden Forest. Despite its age and the battered appearance, Hogwarts stood proudly, never waning the slightest. Moonlight shone through the numerous enchanted windows of the castle's countless corridors. Hogwarts, the castle, not so long ago, had been magnificent, filled with the merry voices of chattering students. But that had changed. Ever since a certain dark wizard had taken control of the school, everything had changed. Hogwarts was no longer the safe haven, a place for sanctuary, the representation of light and innocence. It was turned into a school full of dark magic and dark practices. The wizard – everyone in the wizarding world knew his name, but only very few ever dared to utter it – was Lord Voldemort.

In May of 1998, it seemed as if Voldemort was finally going to have the complete magical world in his clutches, when Harry Potter, a young man of mere seventeen years, struck him down from his regime, forever.

Days have flown by after Voldemort's demise. Bodies that had once littered the Great Hall of Hogwarts, resulting from the final battle were taken away by families and friends, buried with sorrow, respect and sometimes – guilt. The survivors saddened with the casualties but relieved of the death of the dark wizard, prowled through the halls of Hogwarts. Whether young and inexperienced or old and wise, they put the castle together with what simple spells they knew and erected monuments for their friends and loved ones.

Everyone, though heart heavy with remorse, were freed of a heavy burden.

That is – everyone but Harry Potter.

A mere day and night after Voldemort's demise, Harry was anything but what you would expect the savior of the wizarding world would be like. Sad, angry, confused, Harry resembled greatly of a moody adolescent, mopping through the castle, speaking very few words to anyone.

This behavior did not go by unnoticed by his closest friends, Ron and Hermione. Hermione, credited by many to be the brightest witch of her year, was the first to notice Harry's depressed demeanor. After trying unsuccessfully to share her thoughts with Ron, she tried to talk to Harry herself, only to receive a half-hearted attempt at brushing her off in return. She then attempted to find Ginny, hoping she could talk to Harry, but was met by a fervently working Ginny administering potions and care to the countless patients in the Hospital Wing. Seeing the dark circles under Ginny's eyes, Hermione changed her mind to alert Ginny and kept her observations to herself.

Hermione, however, was not the only person in the castle that noticed the change in Harry. Professor Minerva McGonagall, newly instated – or rather, _reinstated _– as the Headmistress of Hogwarts, considered Harry to be another of her grandsons. Formerly a stern, but fair Transfiguration professor, she had a sharp eye and was usually the first to notice anything out of ordinary. It was long before she picked up Harry's mopping and rather _unnerving _behavior. Promising herself that she'd force it out of Potter before he turned into the next – albeit Gryffindor – dungeon bat, she resolved to carefully tail him until she could find a time and place in his daily routine where they could talk freely. That, however, was not easy. Harry Potter was simply invisible. Even swarms of reporters couldn't find a single hair of him to write stories on.

Ironically, Harry did in fact spend a lot of time under Disillusion charms or his invisibility cloak. Between the two, he made sure he could slip by under the noses of Rita Skeeter's clones, but could be found easily by an unsure student asking about repairing spells, or in several cases, a distraught Hermione inquiring his well-been more times than he'd have liked. After a fateful encounter in the Owlery with a concerned and babbling Hermione, during which Harry rather forcefully shoved her aside with less than kind words, Harry felt that everyone and every portrait in the castle seemed to have their eyes on him. Meanwhile, Hermione didn't seem to get the message that Harry wanted to be left alone, so she kept on pelting him with questions. It was quite unnerving hearing someone else's observation about one's self, right down to the way one eats. Hence, Harry started living under his cloak and wandered about the castle more and more, alone.

It should not be a surprise to most where Harry disappeared off to between his duties as a "Repairer" – in other words, his job was to spell the wards on the damaged parts of the castle – and as one of the potion brewers. With Slughorn's insistence at Harry's talent and with the help of a certain potions textbook that Harry retrieved from a seemingly untouched Room of Requirement, he was one of the lead healing potion brewers of the infirmary. Harry chuckled to himself as he realized that Snape would probably be rolling in his grave when he hears about Harry's new occupation – that is, if he had a grave to roll in.

And that was the reason Harry had been spending a lot of time nearby a certain destroyed tunnel. Charming a tree branch to stick to the knot on the Whomping Willow, Harry spent days turning over every stone and wood plank of the Shrieking Shack, but he found nothing. Snape had simply disappeared, both body and wand, leaving behind a few bits of tattered black cloth as the only evidence that he had been there before.

Snape's body's disappearance greatly disturbed Harry, so much that he spent hours mulling over the possible reasons the dead would walk off with his wand. He had been so sure, so sure, that when Snape's hand thudded to the floor of the Shrieking Shack, his former nemesis was _dead_. But could Snape have lived? Blah. Impossible. However, Harry was not so sure then, after checking and rechecking the list of buried dead, paying a personal visit to the shrouded identified bodies and the mutilated unidentified ones, and after repeatedly muttering summoning charms under his breath, earning him strange looks from passerby.

Unfortunately, Snape was not the only rock in Harry's mountain of a heart. He had assumed many months and even years ago, that after the downfall of Voldemort, he would be happy and relieved. Indeed, that was the case in the immediate moments after the dark wizard's body fell to the ground in the Great Hall. However, as time passed and the shock wore off, a new emotion settled in Harry: guilt. It was not long before Harry realized that it was unbearable passing through the corridors without something to distract himself with. As his footsteps echoed through the halls, he couldn't help but think of the innumerable wizards that had fallen there. His friends; Colin, Remus, Tonks… and others, others that died so he could have a chance at defeating the Dark Lord. Others that died because of him.

As the new sense of guilt settled itself in Harry, he began going out of his way to avoid his friends, a reminder of who was not among them, who couldn't be among them because of Harry's selfishness. Voldemort was right. Harry let them die for him. He had let them die to protect him, just like his parents, just like Sirius, just like Snape, who had to risk so much to ensure the less-than-grateful-Harry's survival…

The clock struck twelve in the Gryffindor common room and Harry sat bolt upright. He looked up from the Defense textbook that he had been scribbling furiously on, making notes on the edges and suggesting different wand motions for each spell – not unlike the Half-Blood Prince. Unmistakably, he had been immersed in the book for the past few hours after dinner (not that he went to eat in the Great Hall in the first place), and therefore missing the looks his friends gave him as they retired off to bed some time earlier.

Stretching, he was not the least bit interested in continuing writing till his hands fell off, nor was he particularly sleepy, so throwing on his invisibility cloak, Harry climbed out of the portrait hole, deciding to take a midnight walk.

Other than a demanding "Who's there?" from the portrait of the Fat Lady, the corridors were completely silent. Harry wandered with no real purpose, occasionally stopping to repair broken parts of stairs and walls, and vanishing loose stones blocking his path. Mindlessly, Harry reached the third floor, passed by the Room of Requirement without pausing, and turned right to another hallway. Suddenly, he stopped. A cloaked, dark figure stood before a window, looking out at the view.

Heart pounding, Harry gripped his wand and clutched his cloak in his other hand, prepared to throw it off at any sign of attack. In his panic, his shoe hit a rock, and it rolled away down the corridor. The figure turned, face hidden by the shadows.

"Who's there?" An extremely familiar voice called.

"Professor McGonagall?"Harry breathed a sigh of relief, pulling off his cloak, and walked toward the professor. "Professor, I'm Harry, Harry Potter."

McGongall, however, did not move.

"Potter, what did I tell you to take the first time you were in my office after that Umbridge woman sent you there with a note?"

"Er… A ginger newt, was it?"

McGonagall stepped into the moonlight. Harry saw that she wore a dark green dressing gown, and for the one of those rare times, had her hair down past her shoulders.

"Oh, thank goodness it's you, Potter, I was thinking that it was some Death Eater…"

Then sharply, she turned to Harry, gave him one of her sternest looks, and Harry's heart sank at her next words, "What on earth are you doing wandering the castle this late, Potter? There're still people supporting You-Know-Who – oh, don't look at me like that. Fine, _Voldemort_ – that still want you slaughtered and tortured for your bravery. I suggest you take care and look after your own skin. People will definitely miss you while you're gone, you know."

"Professor, I think some people are going to want to capture the Headmistress of Hogwarts, not to mention Dumbledore's second in command." Harry retorted.

McGonagall's eyes flashed dangerously behind her square glasses and for a moment, Harry thought he'd gone too far. But then, she smiled.

"I really wonder when you're going to lose that witty tongue of yours, Potter. It's too bad you're not in school anymore so I cannot take any points from Gryffindor. Not that Gryffindor can really afford losing any more points after your adventures with Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger."

Harry felt emotions flood over him with the mention of his best friends. He didn't say anything and stared out the window, at the moonlight dancing on the shimmering lake. His silence and uncomfortable demeanor did not go unnoticed by McGonagall.

"Potter?" She inquired.

"Points…points didn't matter…that's what I said to Ron and Hermione in our first year… when we decided to stop Snape from getting to the stone." Harry said shakily, trying to suppress his emotions. "We thought it was Snape at first, because of his hatred toward me. But it was Quirrell…and Voldemort."

"It was brave but a foolish act on your part, Potter." McGonagall tried hard to keep her voice even, knowing Harry could break apart at the slightest slip of a tongue.

"Our second year… the basilik. We overheard the teachers saying Ginny was captured, and Hermione figured out it was the pipes."

"You nearly gave me a heart attack when you knocked on the door to my office with that fool of Lockhart, Mr. Weasley, and Ms. Granger safe and sound, albeit a bit wet and bloody."McGonagall gave a small smile unnoticed by Harry, remembering.

"Third year, I was told that Sirius murdered my parents, but we found out the truth in the end. I might my godfather for the first time. For a very short time, I finally felt like I was wanted, but Pettigrew escaped, ruining my all my chances of actually having a family that want me."

"Po –"

"Fourth year," Harry continued quite forcefully. He had no idea why he was recapping all the events of his previous years at Hogwarts. But it seemed important that he talked everything out. He didn't care what McGonagall thought of him. He just needed to… talk.

"My fourth year the fake Moody put my name in the Goblet of Fire. Ron almost stopped talking to me but eventually he came around. Moody helped me so I could get through the tasks. It was my suggestion that Cedric and I both take the cup. I – I got him killed –"

"Nonsense, Potter! Peter Pettigrew killed Mr. Diggory!"

"I could have prevented it. If I only could have… Voldemort took my blood to make himself a new body. The Ministry…they didn't want to see the truth. They were too scared."

"Fifth year, Fudge was scared, so he appointed Umbridge to make sure Dumbledore wasn't doing anything to overthrow him. But he didn't. We did; Dumbledore's Army." Harry smiled a little at the memory. "Then, Voldemort got into my mind. I couldn't throw him out. I didn't pay attention to my Occlumency lessons with Snape because I wanted to see his mind. I didn't think he would plant false images…so that he could get what he wants. The Department of Mysteries. And Sirius…Sirius…I – I barely knew him…He was all I had."

Again, Harry was forced to pause to choke down his rising sobs.

"Sixth year, Dumbledore showed me memories during parts of Voldemort's life so I could understand him better, so that I would know the objects he used to hide his Horcruxes in." Harry glanced over at the nodding McGonagall. He had told his closest friends (with the exception of Ron and Hermione, for they already knew), and the remaining members of the Order about Voldemort's Horcruxes.

"At the end of the year, Snape killed Dumbledore, under his orders…"

Harry gulped, and the memory of Snape's voice filled his head _Clear your mind, Potter. Clear your mind._

"This year, so much has happened. So many, so many that has risked their lives to protect my hide died. Moody, even Scrimgeour died keeping my location secret, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Snape, and Colin…I – I could remember the first time he disarmed a dummy in D.A…."

Harry's voice cracked, and the sobs rose from his chest. Tears trailed down his face, and McGonagall drew him close, patting his back.

She whispered, "…it's ok, Harry, it's ok…"

"I – I feel like I failed them. I could have struck him down… sooner. So many died… to protect me."

"Potter! That is not true!"McGonagall's angry voice cut through Harry's sobs, but he just ignored her.

"I – I'm just an arrogant, self-centered brat like my father. Snape was right… I used them as my shield…shield." Another sob.

McGonagall's voice was the stiffest and sternest as Harry had ever heard her as she said, "Really, Potter, what you're suggesting is completely absurd…"

Harry gulped and tried hard to keep his voice steady, "But Professor, Voldemort's right, I let them die for me…"

"Harry Potter! Are you possibly listening to He-Who- alright, _Voldemort_?"

There was a pause. Then, Harry spoke so softly that McGonagall had to strain to hear him, "I don't know… I don't know…"


	2. Chapter One: The Man in Black

**The Hero's Return**

_Chapter One: The Man in Black_

A dark haired solitary man, clothed in tattered plain black robes, stepped through a small black door that seemingly just appeared on the wall of a long, empty corridor. Moonlight shone through the windows, just giving enough light for the man to see his austere surroundings. As the man walked briskly onto the solid granite floor, the door seemed to fold back into the wall. Then it vanished. Any onlooker - though there were none - would have sworn the door hadn't been there in the first place and that the man just walked through a wall. The man, seemingly unaware - or simply not bothered - that he had just appeared out of something that wasn't there a moment before, walked briskly down the corridor, the tapping echo of his light footsteps bouncing off the walls, resounding through the hall. The man's stride were long and hurried, as if he was late for an important appointment, but there was also a ginger air to his steps and the man's brows were furrowed, as if using his legs pained him.

Some twenty-five yards down the corridor, the man stopped. Illuminated by the light that was seeping through one of the high windows, the man could just make out two figures. A young man - hardly older than a boy - was standing by the edge of a windowsill, staring into the moonlit night. An elderly woman stood behind him, dressed in a black nightgown, hand on his back. The two seemed to be conversing quietly to each other. Silently like a ghost, the man approached, blending into the shadows.

Tipping his head, the man listened intently.

"…really, Potter, what you're suggesting is completely absurd…"

The man stiffened as his worst suspicions confirmed themselves. Could it be possible? Could it be possible that the boy actually lived? Was Dumbledore wrong?

"But Professor, Voldemort's right, I let them die for me…"

"Harry Potter! Are you possibly listening to He-Who- alright, _Voldemort_?"

There was a lengthy pause. The man held his breath, as if his mere breathing could notify the pair of his presence.

"Professor McGonagall…" Harry Potter started, voice faltering. The professor cut him off with a sharp swat on the boy's head.

"Really Potter," She said in a disbelieving tone, "I don't believe I could ever learn what goes on in that head of yours. What did You-Know-Who ever do to make you believe him so?"

"Snape…" Harry began softly. The man's eyes widened by the marginal of an inch, and slid his wand out from the sleeve of his robes, prepared for an attack. But the boy did not turn, but instead, continued in the same soft voice.

"The whole time, he was protecting me. Dumbledore tried to tell me, but I didn't believe him. He died at his fake master's hand. He was a spy… and a hero. He died trying to protect me."

"And he died so that you can avenge his childhood friend's death."

At the professor's last several words, the man felt a dagger pierce his heart again. He wanted to cry out. Harry Potter was supposed to be dead with those memories. How many people had he told? How much had he told?

McGonagall continued, "…Lily…I should have known. They had the strongest, yet the most unlikely friendship. A Slytherin boy and the Gryffindor girl. They were inseparable. A few of the professors joked that they would have the first Gryffindor-Slytherin marriage in a century, but of course…" Her voice trailed off.

The man, who was not a usually emotional person, began to shake uncontrollably at her words. Images flashed before his eyes of a red-headed girl sitting on a grassy hill, her sweet laughter ringing in his ears. He shut his eyes, silently pushing the image out of his mind, determined on following the conversation between the professor and the student.

"Harry…" McGonagall once again continued in a much softer voice. "I know it's hard for you, but you just have to let all of it go. All of these heroes died for the greater cause. They died so you could end the 'Dark Lord's" regime. They died so the new generation could live in a world without such evil. They died for others, Harry. All the heroes. They died so that the world can be Light once again. It's the same with Severus. He knew you could beat him, 'mediocre' as you are, you Harry Potter, even in your worst moments, are a much better man than Lord Voldemort ever was."

"It's hard to be humble around you, Professor."

The man heard McGonagall's soft laugh.

"Potter, I wouldn't be surprised if you were channeling Albus. Which reminds me…I believe we're in the need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I'm afraid we won't have qualifying candidates now that – "

The man chose that moment to act. He stepped into the moonlight

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><p>Harry's mind was spinning as he heard the professor's last words. Defense Against the Dark Arts professor! As much as he wanted to be an Auror, teaching Defense was an honor above any Order of the Merlin he could receive.<p>

McGonnagall smiled kindly upon him as she said, "I'm afraid we won't have qualifying candidates now that –"

What caused the absence of qualifying candidates, he never found out for –

"Now that one of the previous Defense professors is more than happy to fill the position?" A silky voice behind them said.

Harry froze, heart pounding. As unlikely as the person the voice belonged to, there was no denying the sarcasm and the touch of dark humor. Whipping out his wand, slowly, he turned to face the former most hated Potions Master. Even in the low light, there was no denying who the bat-like figure was. The lined face that haunted him in his dreams looked as cold as it ever was. The part of his neck unobscured by his cloak showed no sign of where Nagini's venomous teeth sunk into his flesh. Severus Snape stared unblinkingly at the two, waiting for them to make the next move. Harry saw, that like him, Snape had his wand clutched in his hand, tip pointing downwards.

Beside him, he heard McGonagall's strangled gasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her clutch her chest in surprise. Once again, Harry was reminded that the new headmistress was much older than she seems.

Snape and Harry simply stared at each other. Years of hatred washed over Harry's face as he struggled to think clearly, struggled to judge his previous tormentor, who just a few moments ago, had been acknowledged by Harry himself as a hero. Images of Snape's death flashed before his eyes. Voldemort's order, Nagini striking, Snape falling, the blank black eyes staring up at the green, Snape's cold hand hitting the ground… It was just not possible. Harry had seen him die. He had seen the peaceful expression on his face as he stared at Snape moments after his death. It was just now possible…

The silence was broken by McGonagall's voice "Se – "

Everything happened in a blur. At the same exact instant, both Harry and Snape slashed their wands through the air. Streaks of light shot from their wands and their curses met in midair with a loud bang, showering sparks on both of them. Not bothering to answer McGonagall's pelting gasps and stutters, he held his wand at chest height, looked into Snape's empty black eyes, and said quietly,

"Severus Snape, what was the underage magic you witnessed moments before you told my mother she was a witch?"

Snape's eyes widened ever so slightly as he said in smooth, flat voice, "Lily Potter made a flower's petals open and close by themselves."

Harry's jaw dropped and he lowered his wand. It was Snape. Snape, who was supposed to be dead…

Blinking to reality from his moments of shock, Harry saw Snape hadn't lowered his wand. He hadn't moved at all. In fact, his wand was pointed directly at Harry's chest. His searching dark eyes were locked into the green.

In a slow, menacing voice, he murmured, "Harry Potter, what was the memory you intruded upon in Dumbledore's Penseive during your abysmal Occlumency lessons?"

Holding the eye contact, Harry said softly, "The one you asked me to never talk about again, Sir…"

"Cheeky," Snape muttered as he dropped his wand.

Before either could react, McGonagall, who appeared to have finally found her voice, angrily exclaimed, "Potter! Severus! What is this?"

Neither answered. Snape's calculating and shocked look was mirrored on Harry's face. Both of them stared at each other as if seeing one another for the first time.

McGonagall looked from Snape to Harry then to Snape again, and opened her mouth to speak. However, before she could demand answers, Snape spoke.

"You were supposed to be dead, Potter."

"Same with you, Professor. You were bitten by Nagini."

"You were supposed be to be dead with those memories."

The two stared at one another again, not speaking. A long, uncomfortable silence fell between them. McGonagall, taking a moment to collect herself, interjected angrily.

"Both of you have _some explaining _to do, but first of all, Potter, I thought you said Severus is _dead_?"

Harry mutedly shook his head, not taking his eyes off Snape.

"I saw the snake bite him, ma'am. His body was destroyed when the Shrieking Shack collapsed under Fiendfyre. We searched and found tattered bits of black robes."

As Harry spoke, Snape's trademark sneer was slowly forming on his lips. He paused, looking at Snape.

"And Potter, you 'searched' but you failed to realize that burnt body parts and a certain phoenix was missing?"

Harry gasped in recognition as the pieces fell together. McGonagall looked from Snape to Harry again, with a very confused expression on her face. Once again she attempted to speak, but her voice faltered after the first syllable and she wisely kept silent, watching both of them.

"Fawkes…phoenix tears can cure any venom. Your loyalty to Dumbledore…"

McGonagall gasped as she realized what Harry was saying. Sighing, she sat down on the window ledge and cocked her head to watch Harry and Snape's conversation.

A half smile was creeping on his Snape's face. Harry stared in horror and amazement as the "greasy-haired git" threw his head back and laughed. It was a deep, rumbling laugh.

After a few moments of mirth, Snape turned to Harry and said, a bit breathlessly, "Really Potter, maybe you aren't so hopeless after all. Now if you would care to explain, how did _you _survive? Dumbledore was sure you were going to die. Unless…"

Now it was Harry's turn to smile as a flicker of realization crossed Snape's face. As greasy as his hair was, the man _was _intelligent beyond any ordinary wizard.

"Well, Severus." McGonagall stood, having finally overcome her shock. "I must say, you have quite some explaining to do. However, it is late, and it would be wise to find a more appropriate time to wake the rest of the castle, though I'm sure there are several people at Hogwarts that won't sleep tonight no matter what they do." She cracked a smile at Harry. "But first…Welcome back to Hogwarts, Severus."

Harry blinked, and in a split second, by some miracles speed, McGonagall's arms were around Snape, who stood, eyes wide, looking horrified. Chuckling to himself at the colleagues' reunion, he turned to go, but Snape slightly voice called him back.

"Wait, Potter, before you go, humor me with this request."

Harry nodded, slightly puzzled.

A second extremely rare smile stretched across Snape's face.

"Tomorrow, 10 o'clock, the Great Hall, Wizard's Duel. Wands only."

Snape's smile was mirrored on Harry's face as he turned to go.

"No problem, Professor. Just don't try to slip poison into my pumpkin juice when your former 'mediocre' student wipes the floor with your billowing robes."


	3. Chapter Two: Behind the Veil

**A/N Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed! I have some ideas for how the story should progress but any suggestions are welcome and appreciated.**

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><p><strong>The Hero's Return<strong>

_Chapter Two: Behind the Veil_

Minerva McGonagall was not usually a talkative woman, nor did she make most people feel particularly welcome with her openness. In fact, her usual sternness as a teacher was only matched by one another – Severus Snape. Ironically, it was Snape that had to endure her unusual chatty mood. With the promise of a later duel, Harry Potter hastily headed back in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitory, leaving Snape behind with a strangely sentimental McGonagall, who was babbling like that know-it-all Hermione Granger.

"Minerva." Snape said loudly, after McGonagall gave no sign that she was going to run out of breath, "I don't know about you, but I'd rather be resting than listening to you rambling about _survivors_. If you haven't noticed," Snape glanced at the moon through the window, "it's about two o'clock in the morning."

For some reason, McGonagall seemed to be even happier at Snape's comment.

"Why yes, of course Severus. A bed for you in the Headmaster's quarters I should say. You do realize that you _are _the Headmaster now –"

"No." Snape said simply.

McGonagall frowned at him. "Why not? I don't believe that there's someone else more suited for the – "

"Really Minerva," Snape drawled in his oily voice, "Do you seriously believe Harry Potter can teach Defense Against the Dark Arts? Even though he might have defeated the Dark Lord by some sheer luck, he is mediocre to the last bone in his body. Not the mention his students will be too busy staring at him drooling rather than listening to what he was saying. No, I believe I'm more suited for the job. Now if you are willing to grace me with the knowledge of the password to _your_ office – which I must request to borrow till I get the Defense classroom back from that Carrow woman – I believe I'd like to retreat for the day."

The smile never left McGonagall's voice as she said, "Of course Severus. 'Lemon drops'– "Snape raised an eyebrow, " – is the password. Good night, Severus."

Chuckling faintly to herself, she headed in the direction of the Transfiguration classroom.

Snape, not amused, walked briskly down the corridor in the other direction. His feet carried him to the ever so familiar gargoyle, and after muttering the password, up the ever so familiar stone steps leading to the Headmaster's office. Memories fluttered to him of his year as Headmaster, memories of terrified students being lead to his office at wand-point by the Carrows. Shaking the memory from his head, he pushed open the black door.

A sudden earsplitting noise made him cry out. Whipping out his wand, he thought of Death Eater's curses and their intent to kill him now they found out he was the traitor –

But it was applause. All around the office, the headmasters and headmistresses were waving their hats and wigs, giving him a standing ovation. They reached out of their frames to grip each other's hands, dancing flittingly from one portrait to another, as if Voldemort's demise had just been mere moments ago.

But Snape only had eyes for the man who stood in the largest portrait directly behind the headmaster's chair. Tears were sliding down his weathered face into his long silver beard. He looked at Snape with gratitude and affection, almost as if a proud father was looking at his son. Holding up his hand, he approached Dumbledore. The other portraits fell into a respectful silence and looked on curiously, as Snape stared at the old man in the portrait with eyes blank with emotion. After a moment of quite, Snape spoke, choosing his words carefully.

"Have you kno – suspected – that something like this would happen, Headmaster?" Snape's voice was flat, empty of emotion.

Dumbledore, even in portrait form, was slightly taken back by Snape's tone.

"My dear Severus, I had one curious suspicion, but I did not kn – "

"And yet you went on with it, Dumbledore? You suspected the boy will not die and you let me make a fool out of myself by giving the boy those memories? Memories of Lily?"

"Love is nothing to be ashamed of."

"And what good does love do? Lily is dead. I am confined to the living because of my sworn revenge on Lily's death. Lupin and Tonks! They were young couples! Their baby was just newly born! Ted Tonks will just grow up to be like Potter, an orphan with no memories of his parents."

"What are you saying, Severus?"

"I'm tired of life, Dumbledore. There is nothing to live for! I should have died and spend the rest of eternity with – with – "

Breathing heavily, he whipped his wand and a curtain attached itself to Dumbledore's portrait and snapped shut. Ignoring the glances the other portraits were giving him, he sat down hard behind the headmaster's desk. Gripping his head as the curtain of hair fell in front of his face, he knew Dumbledore didn't cause any of this. But he was angry. Angry that he was alive.

Brushing the curtain of hair away from his face, his elbow knocked into something solid. Looking down, he saw Dumbledore's Pensieve was on the desk. A grey vial of swirling memories sat next to it. In small, slightly messy print, Snape read: "Severus Snape's last memories to Harry Potter." Closing his eyes, Snape opened the cap, drew the memories with his wand and placed them back into his head. Scenes of a little red-head girl flashed before him, of himself speaking to Dumbledore…

Suddenly, Snape had an idea. Touching his wand to his head, he drew a bright silver mist and placed it into the Pensieve. Without preamble, he dived into the stone basin.

_Severus Snape laid face-down on a white, flat surface, surrounded by a bright mist. He did not stir. _

_For what seemed like eternity, he laid there. Then, slowly, he got up, brushing off his clean black robes. Thoughts were half forming in his head when – _

"_Severus!"_

_He spun around. Lily Evans Potter was walking towards him, her plain black robes flowing out about her, her face stretched wide into a smile. _

"_Sev," She spread out her arms wide, pulling Snape into a tight embrace. He hugged her back, stunned, heart beating faster than it had in the past 16 years. A familiar faint aroma of cherry blossoms and fresh parchment clogged his senses as he buried his nose in Lily's hair. A choking, gurgling gasp escaped his throat, and he sobbed. _

"_It's okay, Severus." Lily whispered, gently patting Snape on the back, "it's okay."_

_They stayed still, arms around each other. A long time passed, or maybe no time at all._

"_Lily…" He muttered her name softly._

_He did not care where he was, or how he got there. All that mattered was that Lily Potter was standing before him, his childhood friend, his loved one. _

"_Thank you, Severus." Her voice was barely above a whisper, yet he caught every word effortlessly. _

"_Whatever for?" _

"_For protecting Harry."_

"_What is the point? Surely, he's dead now."_

"_He's not, Sev. Harry is alive."_

"_What?" Startled, Snape pulled away. _

_Lily gazed up at him, with round, watery, green eyes, sparkling with tears._

"_He's alive. Voldemort is dead. Dumbledore said he saw the seventh bit of him enter this realm not so long ago."_

"_Seventh bit of the Dark Lord? Dumbledore!" Snape stepped back. "He's here? Where…where are we? Lily, please explain!"_

"_Where do you think we are, Severus?" Lily waved her arms to indicate their surroundings. _

_Snape turned and looked about him for the first time since Lily appeared. The landscape began to sharpen and recognition slowly flickered across his face. He knew where this was – well. However, everything was shrouded in a bright mist. He could not see much past where they stood. _

"_We're in a meadow, a meadow near our…homes."_

"_We're at Spinner's End?" Lily turned and surveyed the meadow curiously, giving no sign that she recognized where they were._

"_Why –"_

"_I cannot see what you see, Severus. This is your _party_, as we should say. You should know about what I mean about Voldemort. You've been always very smart, Sev. Surely you can figure out that he sliced his soul into pieces so he could die more than once and still live on. That is why he is able to come back using Harry's blood. That is why Harry and Voldemort share a mind."_

_Snape looked stricken. "So, are you saying that Ha-Potter was part Voldemort?" _

"_And also blood." Lily nodded, but before Snape could ask any other questions, she continued, "As for Dumbledore, let's just say he's a bit busy greeting the ones that have passed on at this moment."_

_Snape blinked. "Have I… passed on?"_

_Lily chuckled. "No, you haven't. It's not your time yet, I'm afraid."_

"_But how? Nagini struck me. I gave Harry Potter those memories. I'm dead!"_

_However, Lily only smiled wider. "It's your time to return to the living Severus."_

_With her words, the mist began to surround Lily, engulfing her. _

"_Lily, wait! Why? Why do I have to go back?" Snape shouted as Lily faded. "I don't want to leave you!"_

_Lily's voice echoed as Snape felt himself spin into nothingness. "…your promise to Dumbledore. You promised to guard Harry till he dies. Do me a favor, Severus. Live for Harry, live for another love. Begin a new life. You deserve another…" _

Snape rose out of the Pensieve as the memory dissolved, breathing hard. It seemed almost as if he had just woken up from Lily's echoing voice, finding his neck wet but unscathed, a single phoenix feather lying across his chest. It seemed only minutes ago that he found himself sprawled on the dusty floor of a room with curious objects. A burnt smell had lingered in the air. The memory was startling clear as he recalled his walk down from the third floor, seeing McGonagall and Potter –

Potter! Potter was the reason he was here in Dumbl – no, _McGonagall's_ – office, not with Lily. Potter was the reason he was still alive. If it wasn't for Potter, he could be with Lily, forever. He had given everything for the child. What more could Harry Potter possibly want?

_Because he wants nothing_. A small voice in the back of Snape's head said. _Lily's son didn't ask for any of this. He'd never asked for anything. _

_No!_ Snape fiercely shook his head to clear his thoughts. _The Potter boy was always arrogant, attention seeking, mediocre…_

_You do know that's not true, Severus. _The small voice said again. _You've watched him in Defense. He's possibly the best person in the school at defending spells. You knew he was mistreated by his aunt and uncle. He spent most of his childhood growing up unloved, rather like you – _

"Shut it!" Snape muttered to himself angrily. He sank back into the armchair behind the headmaster's desk and laid his head against the table. The next day, he will figure everything out. The next day, he'll have a little chat with Potter. With that thought in his mind, Snape slowly drifted to sleep.


End file.
